


Kitty, Puppy, Snake

by theholychesse



Series: with your hollow skull all white, i kiss your ribs goodnight [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Also note that severus snape started off as a good boy but became bad, F/M, I literlly wrote this because I had nothing else to do, Marauders' Era, POV Second Person, Possible Manipulative Dumbledore, enjoy, just how james started Bad and became good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholychesse/pseuds/theholychesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merope Gaunt had a sister, a certain Morrigan Gaunt, who escaped the family as soon as she turned 17, much to the ire of her brother and father. She wandered Britain for years, until she met a muggle man, and fell in love. She had a son with the man, Micheal. He in turn had a daughter, and Morrigan loved her little granddaughter, and her son, and how she could make jokes with them in the tongue of the snakes and debate which little snake they brought into their abode was the best. She died in complications from surgery, and her son died soon after, suspected to have ingested some particularly bad tea. That left the only surviving member of this offshoot of the Gaunts all alone. </p><p>This is Lily Evans' story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitty, Puppy, Snake

_Daughter dearest,_ Dad says in that language only you and Dad know, that Petunia can’t ever speak because she’s got another dad, as his fingers tangle in your hair, and his hands rub gentle circles into your scratchy scalp. You look up at him, eyes wide and shining, and before you can hiss in reply, he goes on, and you fall silent. _Daughter dearest, no matter what, stay alive, stay alive, for me and nanna and your own young, one day, they will be like us, us, and they will need your wisdom, and your kindness, and your gentle-most teachings. For even if you will not have an Evans, you will have a Speaker, and  they’ll be so terribly alone, alone, without you._

And you nodded, nodded, nodded, as his eyes fell closed, and his breath stilled, and you wailed as you clung to his still warm body. Dad is gone, and now you’re alone, alone, so very alone, and you don’t ever want anyone to feel like that again, so you vow, vow, vow to stay alive, to give your young, your spawn, your hatchlings, someone to be there with them.

You were five, and your father left you alone in this world, with budding magic and slithering words, and a creeping script and visions of snakes and feathers and brown eyes.

Or perhaps he didn’t, maybe he’s watching over you, as you meet a small, skinny boy your age, with big brown eyes, and the purple love of his father across his skin, and he’s called Severus, and he can make things fly and cats talk and his play tea made from grass and water and leaves heals your scraped knee, and you love him like you love your teddy, and you hold him close, and in turn, so does he, because he was alone too.

( _Maybe in another world, you would have met later, maybe in another world, your Dad would still be with you, and you weren’t alone, but that was a world where your Dad didn’t die slowly because someone poisoned his morning tea, where the only thing that saved you from ending up like him that day is the fact that everyone thought you were his step-daughter. But this isn’t that universe, it’s your own, and you will make do with what you have, and go beyond that, and make this world your’s for the picking for daring to hurt you.)_

.▲.

The first time that shy little boy called Severus hears you hiss to a garden snake, his eyes blow up, and he stammers, and gulps, and asks a billion different questions as he shakes worse than a leaf in the autumn. You have Fiona, your new pet, around your neck and tickling your chin with her needle thin tongue, as you prattle on about everything your dad ever told you, as you talk about all of your slithering friends, and his eyes shine, and he’s amazed, you know that, can see it all over him, but that’s also the day that whenever he looks at you, he gains another glimmer in his oculars, one that is infinitely warm and fond and even he can’t explain it, when you ask as you enter first grade.

If he touches you more than your other friends, if he blushes whenever he looks at you too long, if he draws pictures of you in his books and thinks you don’t know, then let him, because he means the world to you, and if the feeling is reciprocated, then doesn’t that mean that your child won’t be as alone if you leave?

.▲.

When, on his birthday, Severus gets a letter from the _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_ they’re ecstatic, and read over the list together, fingers tracing green and black ink, tracing that insignia in the corner of the papers,  and Severus looks so very far away, and still, even if he has a smile on that pale face of his. He gets even paler when you, tentatively, quietly, when you’ve read everything, ask what he’ll tell his dad. His lips purse, and he grows quiet, and the excitement in the air bleeds out, as your friend’s face scrunches up and shakes and cries, and you pull him to your chest, as he babbles and whines and blubbers, and you coo lowly, and tell him that you’ll be there for him, that you’re willing to take him away to the wizarding world, and keep him safe and far away from his dad.

He cries harder, because both of you know your words are as hollow as his dad’s heart.

On January 30th, on your birthday, you get your letter, and he smiles at you, and you sit on the floor, forehead to forehead, and hear each other’s heartbeats in the quiet room, and you’re both at peace, because despite the both of you knowing that you’ll never be apart, there was a fear, tucked into both of your hearts, a niggling fear that seemed to be all present during the day, but it’s gone now, and both of you can breathe steady and slow without any fear for the future.

( _Lies._ )

.▲.

You meet the Marauders, and apt name for a bunch of no-goodbodies, and you hate them on sight. Even though you’re in Gryffindor, and Severus in Slytherin, he’s still your best friend, and you hang out and study and be with him as much as you can, but you can’t be there for him always, when he’s teased for being a halfblood, when he’s hated for being a snake, when he’s hated for liking books and teachers more than your classmates, and the days when it gets really bad for him, sometimes, you wish, you could become a serpent and wrap around him, and hiss and bite anyone who tries to hurt him.

One day, when you’re twelve, and you’re studying OWL level potions with Severus, with him so close your elbow is touching his side, he stops, and stares at you, and you don’t notice for a minute, up until you look up, and his eyes widen, and he looks to the side, and blinks, before leaning in and kissing you on the lips with all of the chastity and innocence of a child as well as with all of the clumsiness.

You freeze, and you can’t breathe, and suddenly the world is falling all around you, and as stare at him, red faced and fidgeting and quiet, because _god_ , how could have you missed this, it was _obvious_ , and your voice shakes, and you swallow, and you have the sudden urge to cry. “I--” You say, and he sees your expression, hears that one word, and understands, and shakes his head, and turns his books, and his eyes are wet and he’s shaking as bad as he would after he ‘speaks’ with his dad, but you both go back to work, and neither of you bring it up again.

He’s a brother to you, and when you say that, a few days later he answers with a, “I know, I know, I always knew.” And in that moment, you reach out to him, and whisper in his ear. “Maybe in another life, maybe in another life.” And, it seems, that both soothes him and riles his halfbreed blood. Perhaps it’s your kinship with him, but it feels like the cells in your veins do the same.

.▲.

A boy teases you, teases you, says that you’ll never have a boyfriend, a husband, because what man would want you, when you’re always buried in books and focusing more on your grades then looking pretty for the guys. You hold your head high to his insults, and simper back, and he runs out of the room when you finish, and you pass by James Potter, who eyes you with something almost like _hunger_ , and that’s when your steps turn fast, and you run out of the tower, and don’t even go to Severus.

He’s been quiet, quiet with you,  and hanging out with Regulus, a boy two years your junior, and Barty Crouch Jr.,  and books about dark magic and those graduates, Bellatrix and Lucius. You see him pouring over texts of curses and hexes and theories, and you joined him in at first, but when the spells become those that cause entrails to escape the body through the throat, spells that make people scared and shaking and afraid of their own body, spells that makes people claw at their eyes until they reach their tender brain, you, wan with shock, stop coming, and tell him to stop, but he just looks you with dead eyes, and doesn’t speak a word.

When you’re alone, and in the Room of Requirement, you hold your snakes (Fiona and Agatha and Noxis and Basil) close to you, and whisper all of your woes to their gentle, understanding eyes, as they squeeze and let go of your flesh as if mimicking a hug, even as war dawns over your world, and you fear for yourself, for Severus, and for the child you’ve always wanted to have.

You hold your belly, one that is empty, one that you secretly fear might always be empty, and your hands slide over it, and then you focus, your hands drop, then you steel yourself.

You aren’t defined by your ability to have children, aren’t defined by your ability to get a man, aren’t defined by your vagina, and the flesh that will slide out of you and weep one day. No. All that comes later, and no matter how much you want to have a child, a little snake-speaker like you, someone who will laugh at Noxis’ jokes, and who’ll play with Agatha’s own young, you have to wait, and gather power and wealth and safety, because as much as you want to dote on your little spawn, you need make your own life first, need to make your place in the world, and be safe enough in these times for your little snake to have a mother through all of their life.

War is on the horizon, and whispers of a parselmouth Dark Lord reach your ears, and you snort, and send Basil with a message to this muggle-hating scum, and you tell him to never touch the world with his spindly disgusting fingers, because you’ll be there to stop him, and save everyone from themselves. He doesn’t reply with nothing but a fat mouse in Basil’s belly.

.▲.

When Severus, dear, dear, dear Severus, insults you, with such _hate_ and _disgust_ in his voice, and then just shortly afterwards, expects you to come crawling back with a halfhearted apology, you slap him, and consider sending a castration hex, but as you lift your wand, a boy with big yellow eyes, and overly large teeth takes your hand, and stops you, as Severus grows white and runs away at his sight. You know him, Remus Lupin, he is, and you grow pink at your temper, when he talks you down in a quiet voice, his warm hand at your wrist the entire time, and it stabilizes you. You feel moisture pick up in your eyes when it all sinks in, when you realize your best friend isn’t that anymore, is a stranger, and when your breath hitches, and you cry silently, he doesn’t comment on it, and instead, asks if you want to to to the library and study on Thursday.

You say yes, and from then on, Remus Lupin is your friend.

.▲.

You meet James and Sirius and Peter so many times, that all of your meetings have started to blur, but with your help, and what has already been done, you mellow the boys out, and when James comes to you with a hand picked bouquet of magical flowers from the Forbidden forest, you first yell at his recklessness, take the flowers, and then kiss the tops of one of those flowers, and softly inhale their scent. He flushes, and scratches the back of his head, as you glance up at him through your lashes, and smile. It’s a Hogsmeade weekend, and you grab his hand, spell the flowers into your hair, and make him pay for your food.

You love him, how much you don’t know, but you’ll see, you love him, don’t mistake you, but sometimes it feels good when a heir of a rich family pays for your meal, and you can talk about whatever you want with your mouth stock full of food, and the boy across from you seems to melt under your gaze, and your words. Soon, you have Sirius clasping you on the back, and gossip following you around, and when you see Severus meet your eye in Potions, betrayal in his eyes, you don’t feel anything but a thick satisfaction in your belly. He shies away from your returned stare, and you feel mirth coiled low in your being.

One time, James finds you with Fiona wrapped around your arm, and the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you never say them, and instead when he walks away that day,  all he thinks is that you oddly like snakes. Someone in green presses into your vision, but before your eyes can capture it, it is gone.

.▲.

When you’re sick almost every morning, praying to the Porcelain God with James rubbing your back,  and lash out at everyone all around you in both English and Parseltongue, and find yourself eating more than you did before, you go brew a pregnancy potion, and when the result is positive, your heart flutters in your chest, as your cradle your belly with James when you tell him. You both cried, cried like babies and whispered your hopes and fears and wants when you both stopped, and the very next day, as you took your prenatal potion, he proposed.

You said yes, _of course you said yes,_ and he took you out to the best restaurant in London, and watched you satisfy your budding cravings with adoration, as you kept on glancing at your ruby studded ring.

When you debate on how will be the boy’s godparents, you consider Severus, Severus who’s a shell of a man and whom hates you, you think, and you cast the thought away, even as a part of you burns.

When James is asleep, slumbering without a sound, your digits splayed over your swelling womb, you blither sweet things in your mother tongue, and sometimes, in the dark hours of the night, you can even swear you hear your little boy hiss back.

.▲.

Voldemort is after you, you learn, why, you can only guess, when your belly is still a touch big with your shrinking womb, and you’re holding Harry in your hands. He’s got your eyes, your chin, and the soft feeling of your skin, but everything else is all James, and you feel proud of you, of your boy, of James, even as you feel guttural terror when that white skinned madman attacks you three times, and now, for that and because of some _dumb_ prophecy, wants to hunt you down and kill all of you.

Your hands tightened at Dumbledore’s gentle words, and Remus takes Harry from you before you can squish unknowingly with all of the unholy rage in your body. You fume and curse and break things, and when Harry cries, you can’t stop, up until James’ office is a mess, a caricature of what it once was, and your husband is at your ear, his muscles tight and shoulders taut, but whispering with no quiver that, _It’ll be alright, Lily, we’ll all live, live past this torture, live past **Him** , and we’ll raise Harry to be the best little boy in the world. _

You don’t notice how Dumbledore’s smile is tight, and how Peter doesn’t look you in the eye, and how whenever his left arm bumps into things, he whimpers, and holds his arm close.

.▲.

You hear the door breaking down, you hear James yell, and _command_ you to take Harry, take him and run, and you do, grab the little confused bundle of dark skin and black hair and green eyes,  going out the back door, but there’s a flash of yellowed teeth and too wide, bright eyes, and scorched wands are pointed at you. You hear James’ screams behind you, and your blood runs cold in you. You slice the throat of an attacker with will alone, and cause another one to fly back and hit the wall with a crunch, but then a woman’s voice tears through the air, and that’s the thing that dooms you, as you whirl around with Harry tucked under your breast.

“ _Crucio.”_ You hear, and you are on _fire_  and drop to the floor, and curl up around your screaming, weeping boy, as he grasps you with tiny little fingers and squeaks out a high and cracking _Mama_ in the serpent’s tongue.

When they stop, stop for just a second, even less,  you hear James dragged to you, and he’s crying, just like you, just like Harry, and when your sun and moon is torn away from you, just before he goes, you, between heaving breaths, use a ritual most light, and plant all of your love and might and will in him, before all you feel is is _is_ **is** is sis i ~~ ** _s_** is~~ **s** is _i_ s sisi ** _sisi_** isisi ~~ _s **is**_~~ isii **s** **is** siisisisis ** _sis_** _isiis i **s**_ ** _i_** _sisi ~~si~~_ ~~ _is_ is~~i _s_ isis **i _si_** _isis_ is _is_ is

  ** _Pain._**

.▲.

Today’s nice, today’s nice, it’s warm and sunny and flowers bloom everywhere, and the man with the restless hair and the sweet voice is with you, and you purr, because you’re a kitty, yes you are, with red hair and big green eyes, and when you say that, voice high and without a sole care the man frowns and says that if you’re a kitty, then he’s a little pup, and you think to yourself that that is _odd--_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Burning burningburningbloodonmy tongue wands and fists and kisses in my innards potionsandhandsand words burying like maggots into my brain (the feathered man-stag is kind, yes he is, yes he is as he pets my hair and makes me f u l l with a million little e e e e children but they are eggs, eggs, eggs (eggs) that the sun eats with beaming delight) and the wards around my soul didn’t hold and     i am i am i a m_

 

 

Your head perks, when the door opens to your grassy wonderland, and you hear something with your little fluffy kitty ears, and so does the pup-man, whose tongue is lolling in his too-small jaw, and _oh_ how you want to kiss your little pup-man--

“ _Mom, Dad..?”_ It’s a hiss, a quiet, gentle hiss, like a serpent’s and as you settle your feline chin against the being intertwined with you, you wonder why a little snake would visit a kitty and a puppy.

You giggle.

 

 

 

 

  
( _A long time ago, you remember you made a promise, and despite knowing you didn’t break it, in your crux, you feel like you failed none-the-less._ )

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. I don't know. 
> 
> I'm not implying that Lily regularly sent hatemail in parseltongue to Voldemort, but, neither am I not implying it.


End file.
